Rise of the Defender (124 page)

     Her hostility, fed by her own confusion,
drained away. He was so vulnerable, so open, that she could see his soul in his
eyes. How terrible to love someone so completely and not receive just a little
in return. Now there was another item to add to her guilt.

     “I am....I am scared,” she whispered before
she could control herself. “Everything I have ever loved has died. I cannot
love anymore, Marcus.”

     His anger fled at her open confession. He
could see she was being entirely honest and his heart ached for her.

     “I won't ever leave you, and I won't die,”
he whispered earnestly. “I swear to you, Dustin, with God as my witness. Do not
be afraid, honey. Please. I will not hurt you.”

     She stared at him a moment, wanting to
believe him but still afraid. Christin reached out and grabbed at his face and
he kissed her little hand, still staring at Dustin. At that sweet, simple
gesture brought tears to Dustin's eyes.

     “I just do not know, Marcus,” she
whispered.

     He sighed faintly. “If anyone should be
afraid, it should be I,” he said quietly. “Hell, Dustin, I have wrestled with a
demon greater than myself for the love of you. I'd walk the fires of hell or
swim from here to eternity for you, and that in itself is scary. I love you
desperately and know even so that you do not love me, yet I lay myself open to
you every day, hoping beyond hope that you shall come around. I risk great
personal anguish for you. Now, tell me; who should be more afraid? Me or you?”

     Christin batted at his cheek, entranced
with the scratchy stubble. Dustin continued to stare into his eyes, battling a
demon of another sort; she still loved her dead husband and she knew she could
never love Marcus, but she could not bring herself to tell him that.

     “I shall try,” she said after a moment. “I
can only promise to try.”

     “And marry me?” he pressed gently.

     “And marry you,” she agreed, feeling as if
she had just lost some sort of battle.

     He smiled and kissed Christin's hand again,
then kissed her. Even if she did not love him, his kiss could still curl her
toes.

     “You won't regret it, I promise,” he said.

     She forced a smile at him as he took
Christin from her and put his arm around her waist, resuming their walk.

     “Won't you tell me why you were so rude to
Dud?” she asked again, nicer this time.

     Marcus cleared his throat softly, averting
his gaze. He did not want to admit the truth to her.

     “Because he was neglecting his duties,” he
said simply. “Did not Chris ever tell you not to question any order he gave to his
men?”

     “In a sense,” she said, knowing Marcus was
right. “He told me never to question any order.”

     “And he was right,” Marcus teased, although
the underlying tone was serious. “Never question my orders, my lady. Each
command serves a purpose or function, and is well thought out. Understand?”

     “Aye,” she nodded.

     He sensed her melancholy mood but refused
to give into it.

     “Shall we ride into town? The man at the
livery had a beautiful pony I thought would make a fine mount for Christin.”

     “A pony?” Dustin repeated. “Marcus, she's
only seven months old. She cannot ride a pony.”

     “Not now, but give her a few months.” he
nibbled on the baby fingers. “She will ride like a knight.”

     Dustin shook her head. Even if he wasn't
Christopher, sometimes he sounded a good deal like him.

CHAPTER FORTY EIGHT

     Day by day Christopher worked with his
sword, repetition and drills constituting his regimen. The dummies the boys had
rigged for him worked well for the first week or so, but after that he simply
wore them out. Simon and his friends insisted on repairing the barriers, but
Christopher gently turned them down. 'Twas easier to simply practice against a
solid tree, and the clearing was surrounded by plenty of them.

     Simon wanted to be a knight and Christopher
knew the boy's desires all too well. But he was in no mood to teach the boy
skills, for he was preoccupied with his own recovery. But he almost felt
obligated to take Simon under his wing, for if it hadn't been for the boy's
parents, Christopher wouldn't have survived at all.

     So, with reluctance, he began training
Simon. It slowed his own progress down considerably to work with the boy, but
much to his surprise, he found he actually enjoyed training the lad. Not that
his determination to return home had lessened in anyway, but he wasn't so
disturbed at his slow pace anymore. Simon was an eager, dedicated student.

     But along with Simon came his friends, and
soon Christopher found himself fostering fourteen boys between the ages of nine
and fifteen. Every morning, the boys would be waiting for him in the clearing
to begin their daily drills and Christopher would instruct them fully before
starting his own drills. Rob and Jonathan, when they weren't out on business,
took to supervising.

     Christopher should have been irritated that
his focus was being diverted and his progress slowed, but he truly wasn't. He
came to enjoy teaching the young boys, and they were so damned eager he had not
the heart to deny them. He remembered when he was their age and all he lived for
was the feel of a sword in his hand, dreaming of the day when he would be the
realm's greatest knight.

     He found it hard to believe how much he had
changed since returning from the quest. The self-centered, arrogant man had
grown a heart in the interim and he found himself doing and saying things that
the Lion's Claw would have never done or said. His compassion, no longer
suppressed, was allowed to express itself and his sense of humor had found an
escape. He was still the dedicated, controlled person he had always been, but
he had matured. He had become something quite wonderful, and he knew he owed
everything to his wife. He would be nothing without her.

     His heart yearned for her more every day
and sometimes the impatience threatened to drive him insane, but he was wise in
that he knew he could not make the trek before he was physically able to
complete it.

     His strength returned more and more each
day and he had gained some of his weight he had lost, thanks to Marianne’s
cooking and his rigorous training. In fact, he thought his body looked and felt
better than it had before, leaner and tighter. But he still had time to go
before he was perfect and he focused every morning on that one goal to be
perfect again, to return to Dustin.

     April was a beautiful month, even in the
middle Sherwood. The cold weather began to warm a bit and the birds and animals
were alive in the trees. Christopher's young knights were progressing very well
and he was immensely proud of them, as if they were his own sons. Rob even took
to sparring with Simon, receiving a good nick on his arm one afternoon and
congratulating his son for his prowess.

     Christopher was practicing on horseback
now, strengthening his legs and torso as he sparred with straw dummies atop
poles. The muscles where his wound was had been severed and badly damaged and
he was stiff, but he worked hard to loosen his body and firm up the muscles
that had been unused for months.

     It was at this point in time that he
decided he could indeed ride back to Lioncross. Hell, he could do what he was
doing here at home, and make love to his wife in the off-time. He felt strong
and whole, mayhap not quite as strong as he had once felt, but he felt good
just the same. With a rush of excitement and relief, he decided it was time for
him to leave.

     Rob was not surprised to hear of his
decision. “I knew you'd leave us someday,” he said. “The more I saw you work,
the more I knew it would be soon. Do you truly feel up to it?”

     “I do, my lord,” Christopher answered. “The
sooner I get back to my wife and family, the more completely I shall recover.”

     Rob nodded. “Simon will be crushed,” he
said. “Who will continue their training?”

     Christopher smiled sympathetically. “Send
him to foster with me at Lioncross; send them all. I have many fine knights who
will train them.”

     Rob rubbed his chin slowly, “Do you know I
have been thinking just that?” he looked around at his encampment. “Look at
this place, baron. 'Tis no place to raise a son. I should like a better life
for Simon, away from his father, the outlaw.”

     Christopher could feel the man’s melancholy
at the situation. “If I might ask, my lord, why was he not sent away when he
was six or seven, as most boys are?

     Rob shrugged. “His mother could not bear to
be away from him,” he said frankly. “He is our only child. Marianne wanted to
keep him as long as she could, although I have chided her on the subject many a
time.”

     Christopher nodded, noticing Lizabetha in
conversation several yards away with a tall young man. She was animated and
smiling, and Christopher found himself thanking God that her attentions to him
had been brief.

     “I shall consent to sponsor him if you
wish, my lord,” he focused on Rob. “I would consider it an honor.”

     “God's Blood, baron, the honor would be
ours.” Rob insisted. “Our son fostered by the great Lion's Claw? What
prestige.”

     “Think on it, then,” Christopher said. “I
shall be leaving on the morrow, with your permission.

     “I shall speak with my wife,” Rob said,
eyeing Christopher in the filtered sunlight. “I am sorry to see you go, baron.
You have made our dingy world a little less gray.”

     Christopher smiled, standing back to salute
him formally. “And I, my lord, owe you my very life. Consider me always your
humble servant.”

     “All I ask is that you put in a good word
for me to Richard,” Rob insisted. “I am not an outlaw or a bandit, baron. I am
simply a man trying to make a life.”

     “I know,” Christopher replied. “And I swear
I shall do my very best.”

     As Christopher went back to his tent to
prepare for his departure, he could hardly believe the time had come. He could
picture Dustin in his mind, smell her hair, feel her skin and it nearly drove
him insane. But he was terrified for what he would find upon his return and
with each passing second, his excitement and anxiety grew.

***

     Marcus and Dustin were married in the small
chapel of Somerhill. It was a lovely little sanctuary and Dustin was married in
a dress of ivory silk, with Christin all dressed up in rose and pink. Marcus
held the baby throughout the entire ceremony, and after he had placed a chaste
kiss on his new wife's lips, he kissed the baby on the head. Christin had
contentedly sucked her fingers, unaware of what had transpired.

     Dustin wore the cross Christopher had given
her and the wedding rings from him as her only adornment. Marcus saw the
jewelry but said nothing until they were seated at the wedding feast.

     “Why are you wearing those rings?” he said
casually. “I had to put my ring on your right hand.”

     Dustin glanced down at the gold band and
diamond ring. “I…I do not know. I always wear them. I have never taken them
off.”

     “I would appreciate it if you would, at
least, wear my ring on your left hand,” he said. “You can wear those rings on
your right hand if it pleases you.”

     Dustin could not bear to remove the rings.
She had bedded this man, and married him, yet she could not stand the thought
of moving Christopher's rings to her other hand. To remove them would to be
admitting that she was no longer Lady de Lohr, no longer Christopher's wife.
She knew in her mind that she wasn't married to him anymore, but her heart had
yet to accept it. The rings did not belong on her right hand and Marcus could
not force her.

     The minstrels began to sing a lovely ballad
for the newlyweds as Dustin faced Marcus firmly.

     “I do not want to move them, I want to wear
them where they are,” she said. “I….I am not ready to move them yet.”

     His face darkened. “That's ridiculous. You
just married me, Dustin. I shall not allow you to wear your dead husband's
wedding rings in lieu of mine.”

     “Do not say that!” she screamed, shooting
out of her chair. The musicians kept playing, but all eyes had turned to the
newly-married couple.

     “Sit down, Dustin, you are making a scene,”
Marcus said in a low voice.

     “I will not,” she snapped, turning to take
Christin from Lady Emma. “I will return to my room now.”

     He ground his jaw, pulling Christin out of
Dustin's arms and handling her back to Lady Emma. “Come with me.”

     She took a swing at him but he ducked,
throwing her over his shoulder and the small crowd in the hall went wild with
approval. Dustin kicked and twisted, drawing even greater applause from the
audience, as he carried her from the dining hall and up to his bedchamber.